


Do You Promise?

by SheNeverWantedToLeave



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Butt appreciation (always), CLAP THEM CHEEKS, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Jon keeps his queen warm, Light bondage/blindfolding, Smut, Smutty Sunday, butt spanking, cabin!smut, just for fun, nothing too deep (unless you're balls deep like Jon)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:28:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29113794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheNeverWantedToLeave/pseuds/SheNeverWantedToLeave
Summary: Dany blows into town again, and Jon decides it's past time to take matters into his own hands...in more ways than one.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 38
Kudos: 131





	Do You Promise?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AenarSnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AenarSnow/gifts), [BlackHawksChild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackHawksChild/gifts).



> HEY FAM.  
> I wrote this for a couple of amazing people by the names of AenarSnow & BlackHawksChild, the idea completely Aenar's idea but it stuck, so now you all get to get an eyeful of cabin!smut and, because I am incapable of writing straight up PWP, naturally the fluffy feels make their way in there. I hope you enjoy this session of Sunday Smut!!!

  
  
  
  
  
To most, the North was a dreary place.

Cold, dry, at times unforgiving, brittle and downright gloomy.

To most, those are the very same adjectives used time and time again to describe Jon Snow.

He didn't disagree, entirely. His outward appearance came off as aloof at the very least, but that meant no room for small talk to fill the air. Only people that mattered, had something worthwhile to say, cared enough to break his facade.

Life had been mostly agreeable for Jon. A steady job as an aeronautical welder for the Westerosi Navy, a reclusive life high up in the Frostfangs away from society, and good friends to fill the social void on the weekends.

Which was precisely where he would be finding himself this weekend with the guys, balls deep in whiskey, the Manchester United at Liverpool cup final, and mayhaps a few games of poker if anybody had their wits left about them by the end of the night.

His foreman, Davos, came around to inspect the work he’d done, as they’d been toying around with a new fusion process that nearly electrocuted him to death because of the dumbass Greyjoy guy who didn’t know his own ass from his elbow. After the second incident, in which the bastard was finally fired, Jon had been a little too generous in trusting him at all - apparently, as he learned, Theon was out for Jon’s job, even though he was years ahead of him in experience. He had handed Jon a piece of aluminum that all but seared his inner hand, leaving a nasty burn that had gotten infected much to his indifference in caring for it afterward. Trying to be a tough guy and just let nature take its course.

Never again. It felt like a sunburn multiplied by fifty, and he had little use of his right hand for a couple of weeks, not to mention how mottled it looked as it healed.

That time, however, he had been with _her_. Daenerys Targaryen, partly the bane of his existence, or so he liked to persuade himself. The love of his life, really, she he hers. But it was all a silly game they played, this cat and mouse, where she would come into town now and again, and sometimes he would even drop in at Dragonstone for a romp in the sheets.

The thing was, since they’d been in each others lives for half of it, Dany had made natural friends with just about all of his, plus _their_ significant others. She just had that way about her; everyone was drawn to her. But not more than he was. She could bring him to his knees in every sense of the phrase and he would still beg her for more.

They met at fifteen, dated seriously for four years, then things just...came to a dead end. He didn’t quite have a name for it, or an explanation, because they stilled loved and trusted each other deeply, but every time they tried to make it work after that, it just didn’t stick. But their game of chase kept them both on their toes, wanting more but letting the distance and the time in-between torture them like some masochistic foreplay. It didn’t make sense, at least not in the traditional way, yet here they were, on the cusp of Jon’s thirtieth birthday, and they’d made whatever _this_ had been work since they were not yet twenty.

There was a catch, however. With every passing, brief reunion, it was getting more and more difficult to say goodbye. The eager desire that harbored in his soul for her teetered dangerously on desperate, reeling himself in before he would catch the next flight out to Dragonstone. As much as he tried to simply deny that what they were doing was anymore than just seeking each others’ familiar existence, burning off steam and alleviating life’s stresses, that gnawing, clawing little doubt demon spun a formidable web around his brain, and then all pretenses were dissolved.

There _was_ nobody but Dany, and he hadn’t the mind nor the heart to even attempt to find a substitute, because nobody compared. Especially his hand. It was a shitty alternative. As long as he kept his mind busy, he usually kept thoughts of her at bay, but sometimes said memories would penetrate his thoughts and cause a near-miss of burning away his fingers for good when he got distracted enough.

He was going to be thirty, had met Dany half of his life ago, and was coming to the jarring realization that maybe he didn’t want _just_ the games anymore. At least, not solely. Not the way they'd been playing them. He wanted her always, often painted a vivid picture of her waiting for him when he got home from an exhausting day’s work, and he would tell her to sit her ass down so he could worry over dinner and she could put her feet up after being on them at the hospital all day. As an aspiring neurologist, she dealt with an array of disorders and conditions on the daily through med school and residency, and she was either exhausted to the bone or still stock full of adrenaline in the times he saw her. And she hadn’t begun practicing just yet, but last he remembered, that was to begin next year once her residency was completed.

His friends gave him shit, as expected, half of them nudging him in the direction of giving Dany up and settling down with someone, the other half smacking him over the head with remarks that he was a fucking fool to keep letting Dany out of his grasp. Maybe he was, at least now, later in life, but up until this point, it was simply a non-committal agreement they shared.

This evening, he didn’t know whether she would turn up or not. Part of the thrill of it was that they sometimes came and went unannounced, and when one turned up with no warning, it only fueled their appetites. Their beds, and other locations they could manage to fuck on or against, paid a price well indebted.

It had been a little over two months since he’d last been with her, but given most of her northern friends would be all in one place at the same time, the odds were fairly in his favor.

As he was walking down the docks, every inch of skin sticky and sweaty beneath the trapped heat in his coveralls, Tormund gave him a hard clap over his sore shoulder. “The big three-oh tonight, Jonny. Hope you’re prepared for thirty shots,” he guffawed, large ginger head tossed backward.

Jon huffed, rubbing at the tense and taught muscle where Tormund had further aggravated it. “I couldn’t handle thirty shots ten years ago. Nevermind now that I’m a decade out from forty.”

“Ah, cut the pussy shit, crow. If you’re walkin’ out of there and not dragged out of The Crossroads, ya’ve done it wrong.”

Rolling his eyes, Jon walked with him into the locker room while they began to remove all of their protective clothing and replace them with their standard day clothes. “Even I have my limits.”

“Ha!” Tormund shouted. “Aye, and my dick is the size of my wee pinky,” he wriggled his lint-laden toes, drawing a scowl from Jon. At least he was several feet away from him. When their lockers used to be neighbors, and Jon didn’t yet have a good read on the giant man, he’d often catch him eyeing Jon in a way that almost made him squirm. He was fairly certain that he’d been comparing their dick sizes, or something along the lines of said subject matter, but that was later confirmed when they had convened at The Crossroads one evening, a year later, and Tormund made the sloshed announcement that Jon had the tiniest pecker he’d ever seen. And that he’d seen more in his thirty-two years than most have seen in their lifetimes.

A sore under-exaggeration, of course, but at least he’d grown used to Tormund’s brusque mannerisms shortly before that day.

Once more, Tormund thundered his monstrous hand to Jon’s _other_ sore shoulder, rattling him and had he not the grip he did, probably would have sent him face-first into his steel locker. “See ya at seven. Bring your A-game and maybe your little dragon woman will turn up and put out.”

_That_ earned Tormund a hearty punch to the bicep, for once making red bushy eyebrows lift in response. Jon only barely softened it with a tiny smile. “See you then.”

Because even if what he and Dany had was unconventional, he had zero tolerance for any shit-talking relating to her.

* * *

The Crossroads was packed shoulder-to-shoulder, corner-to-corner. It made him slightly claustrophobic, but he knew after a couple of drinks he’d barely notice. It was clear more than three-quarters of the guests were there to watch the game, if the sea of red and white team jerseys were anything to go by. The crowds were peppered by casual goers. Manchester was red on white, and Liverpool some gods-awful puke green (“ _seafoam_ ”, Margaery had once corrected him - she rooted for the wrong one, anyway), and he was chuffed to discover the majority were for the correct team of Manchester United.

There were about twelve of them in the group, thus far with more arriving, lodged at a corner table, and had just gotten past a couple of starter dishes and two drinks down when Manchester made the first score. Shots were shared - several offered to Jon since it was his birthday - and the bar erupted, whilst the others resorted to silence or table-pounding. Margaery, perched in his cousin Robb’s lap, slumped against him with her arms crossed firmly over the hideous green of her jersey. Jon caught her sharp glare, as if he had been the offending player that made the goal, and raised his eyebrows as well as his fifth shot glass in recompense. She flipped her middle finger with a dramatically fake smile. 

He shrugged, then was suddenly almost ripped from his seat when Tormund’s mountain-sized hand caught his shoulder - _yet again_ \- and spun him half around. Wide, icy blue saucers bored into him as if his friend were about to announce war was imminent.

“Dragon queen, three o’clock, but what the fuck is she wearing?”

Jon’s body didn’t quite know how to react - his heart leapt, yet Tormund’s dire question stitched a frown at his brow. He rose from his seat, teetering while his brain caught up with his body, eyes narrowing into the crowd…

And there, upon a familiar silver-haired beauty who made every face in that room pale by comparison, was a fucking _Liverpool_ jersey.

_The fucking gull._

Trailing behind her, slithering through the thick groups of people, were some of her other friends: Missandei, Grey, Doreah, and...fucking _Daario_. Jon was almost positive that man was biding his time, waiting to shoot his shot with Dany, but she didn't seem to have any interest aside from friendship. Daario was a cocky, narcissistic douchebag, barely tolerable in a group setting. Probably insufferable when it was just him.

Jon tipped back another shot, needing at least that much more if he was going to put up with Daario for the remainder of the evening. He made his acquaintances with all of them before saving Dany for last, her wide violet eyes turned up to him with a particular glint in her eyes. The very look that suggested so much more.

A smirk danced over his face as he fisted her traitorous jersey at her waist and yanked her close, silently inhaling her cocktail scents of lemon, peony, and fresh air. She yelped at the harsh gesture while he narrowed his eyes. "What are you playing at by wearing this?"

Pink, perfect lips curled up, her dainty hands sliding into his back pockets. The movement brought her flush against him, and he was in danger of going full mast he'd been so starved of her touch. "To get this reaction out of you, obviously."

_Of course._

Gritting his teeth, he had to resist the urge to drag her across the room to the nearest bathroom stall to have his way with her. Instead, he gave his fidgety hands a distraction by bunching them both at her hips and walking around her to guide her to a seat beside him in the booth.

"Wait," she turned to press a hand against his chest, stilling him. Those damn eyes were so hypnotic that he nearly stumbled over his own feet despite his grip and her hand. "Let me buy the birthday boy a drink. What do you want?"

He blew a raspberry through his lips as he attempted to put all thoughts of the things he hoped he could do to her soon in the back of his mind, and recall what liquor was in the forefront of his lust-and-liquor addled mind. He thought he ought to slow down, coast until the end of the evening...or, he could make Dany play catch-up if she was game.

"Only if you let me treat you. If you plan to stay…," he trailed off, knowing she didn't need clarification on the _where_ but they always made sure they were both on the same page. Even if nine times out of ten they were, there were still boundaries to be respected if one or the other wasn't feeling up to much fooling around. Especially in regards to _how_ they went about doing so, and the fact that they weren’t exactly a... formal attachment.

“I’ll imbibe,” she conceded, the tail end of her words disrupted by an uproar. Immediately, Jon shot his eyes up to the television where Liverpool had just scored, tying the game one-to-one.

“Fuck’s sake,” Jon grumbled, returning Margaery’s previous gesture with his middle finger as she slammed her hand on the table to get his attention and rub it in his face. Robb’s head was tossed back, groaning.

With a pleased smirk, Dany pulled him toward the bar as a short commercial break cut in. He followed obediently, as he always did, taking advantage of the given opportunity to let his eyes rake down her backside, sighing at her supple, round arse in jeans as tight as his below the hem of her jersey.

He wasn’t quick enough, her hand lifting his chin to bring his eyes back to hers. She tweaked his nose, eyes widening a hair that clearly stated _eyes up here_. “Pick your poison,” she said, nodding toward the bartender approaching.

Not releasing her hand, treasuring how it fit perfectly against his palm, he shook his head, the movement still lagging. “Surprise me. Whatever you’re having.”

He already threw down a bill onto the bar top, clenching his jaw against Dany’s mischievous gaze. She turned to speak to the bartender, and Jon didn’t miss the way the young man’s eyes darkened as they dropped to get a peak at the small bit of cleavage on display as Dany leaned over to get a better look at the drink specials.

Swallowing a growl, Jon mimicked her posture with his elbows propped up, then brought their joined hands up to rest between them on the counter. That, paired with Dany’s obvious clearing of her throat, was enough to snap the boy out of his ogling, finally deciding to treat them like patrons.

"What can I get you?"

"Two long island iced teas, please,” she answered without missing a beat.

His eyes roamed her side profile. “Are you trying to fuck me up?”

Her head twisted to seek him out, so close that it would take very little to just give in and kiss her. But this was all a part of their game. This drawn-out dance and foreplay, a battle against wills to see who might cave first, or if they could actually make it to a private space, usually one of their houses. He would say forty-five percent of the time they were successful. 

She rotated so that her back was against the bar now, leaning into him slightly, a spark of challenge in her eyes as she spoke. “In more ways than one.”

Exhaling, he could feel his jeans tighten yet again, and she’d only arrived ten minutes ago. There was at least another hour and a half of the game left, and he couldn’t be certain he’d make it through ‘til the end if she kept behaving the way she was. Dany’s hand shifted slightly to smooth her thumb over his wrist. With her position her breasts were pushed up, back a little arched, and all he could visualize was her in that same vulnerable display on his bed with far less clothing and much more touching. It made him wet his lips but tear his attention away from her before his resilience broke and he had half a mind to just throw her up on the counter right then and there.

Without a word, the bartender slid their drinks toward them, avoiding any and all eye contact with Jon but wistfully glancing at Dany as he moved on to the next patron. Jon took a hefty gulp, momentarily stunned by how strong it was; it had been far too long since he last had one of these, and it showed.

Dany giggled around her straw, red painted lips wrapping around to swig. They made their way back to their booth just as the game returned, sitting thigh-to-thigh like they'd dissolve into pieces if they were even the slightest bit separated.

It was going relatively swimmingly; Manchester scored just after the halfway point, bringing them back into the lead. The lot of them made plenty of friendly conversation, but Jon was barely tuned in as his senses were flooded by alcohol and Dany's hand roaming higher and higher up his thigh, hidden away beneath the table. He had to adjust himself to try and ward off his growing erection, but his nervous system was all but numbed. It was all shot to hell under Dany's influence and the drinks only served to feed into that.

But he could be brave, too. He cuffed his hand around her upper, inner thigh, smirking slyly when she went to sip from her straw and missed, squeezing his leg when he climbed high enough to absorb the fact that the heat between her thighs wasn't just from the crowded room.

She even carried on some friendly discussion with Daario across the table about some medical advances being made, and how he was a complete moron to try and argue best practices with her of all people. All while the guy was completely ignorant as to what was going on where his eyes couldn't see.

Jon had to bite his tongue to hold in his groan, probably the last thin thread of control left. Perhaps it was a good thing she stopped him when she did, though her pupils were blown inky black when next she considered him.

They made it exactly thirty more minutes. Truthfully - or, half so - the television screen blared over the game with a weather warning that the massive snow system they'd been blabbing about for the past five days was moving in. It provided them the perfect opportunity to make their escape, even if they were the only pair in the entire group to do so on a dime, and every single individual eyed Jon suspiciously knowing the only time he'd ever missed a match - let alone a Cup final - was in dire circumstances.

And, well, this sort of was, if his cock had anything to say about it.

Since Dany was a bit more sober, despite slamming two rum shots and a second Long Island Iced Tea, she was the one responsible for hailing a ride share through her phone. Jon had slowed down his drinking for that last half hour, but everything was still functioning in a flurry of circles.

The second they were in the car, Dany made herself at home in his lap, grinding her hips against his and attacking his mouth until he found some last scrap of control and gently eased her away, breath labored. She looked entirely put out, and a quick glance at the reflection of their driver - Samwell, he tried to tell them before Dany climbed Jon like a tree - showed how mortified he was by their backseat activities. He would make sure to tip him.

For now, however, he threw on a shit-eating grin, prepared to torture them both for the rest of the journey home. "I'm afraid I can't let you off so easily," he husked, tugging on her questionable jersey. "Not to mention how reckless you are riding in a car without a seatbelt in a snowstorm."

The stubborn set of her jaw almost made him break his facade, eyes narrowing to keep her in focus. "You're diabolical," she remarked, trying to roll her hips and consequently growling when his hands stilled her yet again.

He bit his lip, shifting her so that she was properly in her seat, leaning over to strap her in and intentionally letting his knuckles brush over her breasts, fingers running over her waist until she swatted him away. The look on her face was anything but perturbed, as hard as she was trying to prove otherwise.

"You're going to regret that," she murmured, reaching over and pinching his thigh _hard_.

"Fuck," he hissed, trapping her offending hand beneath his and cutting her a promising glare. "I think it's _you_ that's going to have more than a few regrets tonight."

Despite the only light source being the passing street lights overhead, it was enough to notice the spilled inky black of her eyes, crinkling slightly as she knew very well what he was insinuating. “Do you promise?”

* * *

  
The snow was already over two inches thick and the wind gusts had picked up the point of chilling even his bones, and he was used to the brutal winters. He tossed a bill up toward the front seat of their driver, one mortified Samwell Tarly who’d not only seen them fondling one another but got an earful of their not-so-secret sexual banter, uncaring to his aloofness because of what waited inside.

His drunk ass fumbled for his keys, urging Dany inside once he finally managed to secure it in the keyhole of the cab. With two steps he was saved from the blustery outdoors, but not a breath later Dany pounced on him, the heft of the motion and his loose footing making him crash backwards into the door and slamming it shut. He took her with, calloused and burnt welders’ hands eager for her skin, slipping beneath her jersey and groaning with approval to find he didn’t need to fight through any more layers.

In no time at all, her sweet mouth so insistent his eyes were already rolling behind his lids, he was completely hard, pulling her pelvis to his for at least some mild relief. She whimpered against his tongue, her hands folded behind his neck and tugging him impossibly closer. While he obliged, he coerced her backwards through the black of the cabin, at some point flipping on the kitchen light.

He was heaving for air by the time they crossed the threshold of his bedroom, their coats and hats and mittens a long forgotten trail behind them. It was a miracle they’d made it to the actual bed without either of them toppling over, the alcohol lighting his blood aflame in time with the touch and heat of Dany.

At the foot of the bed, he gave her a gentle shove, falling on her arse and leaning back on her hands while she observed what came next. His tongue pulled his lip between his teeth, but first he left her to starve so he could light the fireplace for some light and extra warmth.

Once it was blazing, he pushed to his feet and turned his attention back to Dany, who had since begun to take matters into her own hands by removing her boots, socks and pants, her fingers curling around the hem of her jersey before he half stumbled back to her to catch her arms.

Lifting a brow in question, he shook his head, his eyes still delayed in keeping up with even remotely hasty movements. “Keep it on.”

“I thought you weren’t letting me off easy with this on?”

Sighing, his eyes dropped to the smooth, creamy thighs taunting him at either side of his legs, lowering one hand to tickle two fingers along the under side. He thrilled at the stuttering intake on breath she produced as a result. “And I meant what I said.” He gestured upward with his chin. “Move back, by the headboard.”

“Jon-”

“Ssh,” he said, dipping down to suckle on her lip by way of reassurance. “You’ll get your turn. If your shit team wins.”

Warm toes were suddenly jabbing into his abdomen, forcing a surprised grunt from his throat. “It’s _not_ my team, but I’m happy to see that my arrangement is being put to good use after all.”

He nipped her lip with a little force, her expression far too pleased for his liking, but that only made her chase him for more, to which he didn’t comply...for now. Even if Liverpool _did_ win, there was no chance in all of the seven hells he wasn’t going to let her do whatever she wanted with him. He got off more on that than when he established the lead, and seven bloody hells that itself nearly drove him to extinction.

There was a grand total of zero control where Dany was concerned, in terms of how soft and bending he was to her every need and want. He worshipped the very ground her pretty, petite little feet walked on. And once she had the reigns in the sheets, fucking him senseless in whatever manner she saw fit, he was gone.

But first, he was going to take advantage of the opportunity in front of him, rifling through his bottom nightstand drawer until he found what he’d been looking for. He pulled his jersey and undershirt over his head, eyes tracking the movement of Dany’s tongue swiping over her lips once she caught sight of him and what was in his hands. Almost immediately, she lifted her arms, hands together and rested against the wooden bar of the headboard before he had even crawled onto the bed. He wondered how long it could hold up before it inevitably broke, but then he would just have to upgrade to something more sturdy, like iron.

He hovered at her side on his knees, securing her wrists with the bar, the cheeky minx bending at the middle to bite and lick his hip bone just above the waist of his jeans. With a clenched jaw, hyper aware of how painfully erect he was already, he gently eased her back down. “How is this?” He asked, wiggling her wrists. 

She gave it a tug, nodding. “Good.”

“Good,” he agreed, gesturing for her to lift her head and laying the blindfold over her eyes, knotting it behind her head, ensuring there was at least a little room without letting her peek. “What’s your safe word tonight?”

She pulled in a breath, chest rising, breathing the word out on an exhale. “Manchester.”

Lowering from the bed, he chuckled, and he was lucky he didn’t spill in his own pants at the sight of her in such a position on his bed, and barely any clothes had been shucked off yet. He made quick work of his, kneeling at her feet between her legs and unbuttoning and pulling down the zipper of her jeans, her throat bobbing with anticipation.

“Good girl,” he rumbled before he followed the path of her exposed skin with wet kisses, dotting a trail of nips and bites where he knew she was most sensitive along her inner thighs, her shallow gasps driving him inexplicably mad. Once her pants were peeled off, he crawled forward at a leisurely pace, measuring the way that her mouth twisted and slackened the closer he became.

Pressing his cheek against her bent leg, he lightly scraped his bearded face down the length of her thigh until his lips met the tendon neighboring the flesh he was salivating over burying himself into, but not quite yet. She had a debt to pay first.  
  
He paused. “Did you avoid touching yourself like I’d asked?” He husked, not even sure if he wanted the answer for fear that he would absolutely lose his mind.  
  
“Yes,” she replied, the word barely getting out as he tried to distract himself from the answer with his lips sucking on the tender skin. She was already beginning to writhe, a small moan slipping between her lips. He gave it a tiny bite that made her jump, swallowing his own snort in an almost futile attempt to remain stoic and stern about the whole thing.

He was newer to this type of play, Dany having shown him the ropes and gladly taking what she was willing to give, but only somewhat recently expressed that he’d like to role swap.

Centering his face over her cunt, heaving a deep breath knowing that what she’d been wearing this entire time was a sorry excuse for panties, the floral lacy design barely concealing anything, and blew warm breath over it, her hips squirming to reach him. He pulled away, hands rising to hold her pelvis down as he nosed her clit, testing and teasing and most definitely tormenting as her mouth fell open with a soundless noise. Heat was rolling off of her in waves, and he hoped to the gods he could draw this out as much as he hoped, but the alcohol loosening all of his senses wasn’t helping his crumbling inhibition.

Eyes firm on her face, he gingerly lapped his tongue up the length of her slit, the sweet taste of her seeping through the thin material and eliciting a keening plea. He smirked, circling the hard pearl and ceasing when she cried sharply, back arching into him. Again, he pulled away, relishing in her increasing agitation.

He pushed up to his knees and pulled her jersey up over her tits, his resolve nearly breaking to discover she’d also gone without a bra and his drunk ass hadn’t even noticed. It was no wonder the bartender had been so keen on getting an eyeful, the bloody wanker. His head dropped slightly with his eyes squeezing shut as tried to gather his wits, damp tendrils escaping whatever was left of the product in his hair to keep them out of his face, inadvertently igniting a sweet giggle from her when they tickled over her skin.

“I thought I was getting a punishment?”

“You are,” he growled, surging to gather a pert nipple between his teeth, the remnants of her laugh dying off into a harsh gasp. He continued to ravish her breast, cupping his hand over her mound without providing any pressure, much to her annoyance. With a parting pop, he licked across her breast bone to the other side, swirling his tongue and pulling the nipple enough to leave it a deep red.

Boldly, she lifted her legs to cage him in and crossed them over his lower back, pulling him down until his cock was suddenly flush against her slick center.

“Dany, Dany, Dany…,” he scolded, not affording her what she sought and untangling her legs.

Dany whined, then he made some quick adjustments so her bonds so that he could flip her over without bringing real pain to her wrists. Her cheek lay against the mattress, his legs straddling her calves. “On your knees,” he commanded, pleased that even as eager as he was to lose his mind in her cunt, his voice didn’t betray him.

Her plump, round ass was offered to him, her top half still against the bed, red lip caught between her teeth in anticipation. Drawing his hand back, he gaze her a solid slap, her body jerking and keen working in tandem while he smoothed the offended flesh with his hand. He gave her a moment to breathe before dealing the same smack to the other, her head rolling so that her forehead pressed into the duvet to smother her cry. Even in the firelight, he could already see a light pink blooming over her pale skin, going perhaps a hair out of the bounds of the rules by laying soft kisses to where his hands marred her.

Before he could continue, the windows shuttered violently, the distinct sound of the power cutting out. “What was that?” Dany asked slightly hoarsely.

The light from the kitchen no longer reached under the bedroom door, confirming what he’d suspected, about the only downside to living in a higher elevation where the winds hit harsher. “The power went out.”

She twisted her head as best she could from her perspective, a haughty brow raised once she caught his eye. “You’d better keep me warm, Jon Snow.”

Like he needed to be told twice.

Scooting up for a better position, he got to work and fell to his elbows and spread her open with his thumbs, the resounding moan making his head spin and cock throb to the point that he would need some measure of relief, and quick. He was pleased to find her soaking, pushing his face closer so that the breath of his words could be felt over her swollen cunt. “Do you promise to behave, Dany?”

“Yes,” she said before the syllable of her name was complete. “ _Please_ ,” she begged, and he showed her some mercy, collecting her juices on his tongue and between his lips all in one motion, a string of curses falling from her pretty mouth. She had almost broken again by the need to grind herself against his face, but caught herself, a genuinely flustered groan tearing from her throat but once more interrupted as he speared his tongue into her cunt with no warning.

“ _Oh my gods, Jon_ ,” she breathed, her words barely intelligible she was panting so heavily.

Again, he pulled back, taking a mouthful of her asscheek with his teeth and laving over it with his tongue.

“Gods...Man-.... _fuck_ ,” she tugged on her ties so hard he was actually impressed by the bed’s manufacturer that the wood didn’t split into half right then. Perhaps iron bars weren’t needed after all.

“What was that, Dany?” He teased, smoothing roughened hands over her hips, sliding them around her thighs and brushing her index fingers over the outer edges of her hot folds.

“N-nothing.” Her voice was two octaves higher than normal, so he smirked slyly and drove his fingers slowly forward, unable to swallow the groan of delight to find her exorbitantly slick once more, pausing just outside of her entrance. “Fucking menace,” she seethed.

He used the opportunity to take the edge off, reaching around and between her legs, grasping his cock and pressing it firmly over the length of her center and allowing himself a few hearty thrusts of his hips, coating himself with her, his eyelids shielding his rolling eyes at how fucking good she felt just like this. His chest filled with a fluttering, rapid burning, knowing that he could easily get them both off shortly if he so desired. Her hopeful moans filled the room, and with a grunt he backed off, her body sagging until she was flat against the bed.

“Manchester.”

_Thank fuck_.

He’d never moved so quick in his life, he thought, promptly sobering up and nestling between her thighs and leaning forward to yank the bonds free from her, her own hands ripping off the blindfold before he could, her nails scraping his scalp with a dull searing pain as she threw herself into him, their teeth bumping and hands all over heated flesh.

Heady, his hands roved to the collar of her jersey, and with all of his might, wrenched the affronting material in a jagged line down the middle, thin threads snapped and ruined. The surprise on her face wasn’t so much offense as it was surprise, and then quickly dissolved into her being so turned on she almost didn’t let him get the damn thing all the way off of her. “I’ll buy you a new one,” he breathed impatiently, “the _right_ one.”

He flung the discarded top onto the floor, making a mental note to use it to stoke the fire later, smashing his mouth against hers, supping on her whimpers as he ground his hips into hers and pressed them firmly into the bed, their conjoined groans composing an erotic song. She dug her fingers into his sore shoulders, forcing him to break away with a hiss.

Her eyes widened with worry as quickly as she let go. “Sorry,” she breathed.

Capturing one hand before it fell away, he planted two kisses to her wrist before meeting her concerned gaze, smiling. “Just tender from work,” he explained, happy when the thin wrinkle between her brow smoothed and her eyes fell heavy again.

“Then let me…,” she didn’t finish, but rather showed him by guiding him on his back and trapping his torso between her thighs, one corner of her pillowy lips curled up. Her lipstick was smeared slightly, and he thumbed it away, but his cock jumped when she sucked it into her warm mouth and circled her tongue around it.

That gave him an idea, but one he would save for when they had some time to recover.

When she let go, he instantly pressed the wet digit against her clit, a desperate breath sucked into her lungs and her hands stabilizing herself against his chest. Her hips bucked, in turn grinding over his cock and thus throwing his head back into the bed, his hands stilling her hips before he spent all over himself before he could get inside her.

With a few calming breaths, he relinquished his grip, resuming his attention back on her. His eyes glued to her cunt as she rose up and fisted his cock, his face contorting as it squeezed and twisted up the length before aligning herself with him. In one swift movement, she sunk down to the hilt, the sound emitting from somewhere deep inside his chest mimicking that of a bear in the Frostfangs rather than an extremely turned on human being. For a few seconds he thought he had blacked out, the only source telling him otherwise being his nerves splitting open as he split her open, and Dany’s face in his, the sheer magnitude of pleasure throwing her body forward.

After they gathered themselves, she shifted until she was sitting in the cradle of his hips, then stretched her legs out so that her feet were over his shoulders and her hands were braced back over his knees, giving him a delicious view of where they were joined.

“Dany...I’ll give myself two minutes. Tops.”

She tossed her head back in a blissful laugh, pulling a goofy smile to his own face, mesmerized by the sight of her. Gods, he fucking loved her to the moon and back. Why was he so stupid?

He didn’t have time to examine the answer - the one he already knew - as she straightened a bit, giving a leisurely, testing roll of her hips, his jaw about hitting his chest, unsure at this point which senses would send him over: his eyes, his heart, or his cock. Maybe all three if he really wanted to go out with a bang. Literally.

Hands curling around her thighs, he could only watch as her cunt greedily took his cock, and with a half a mind he thumbed at her clit, rolling the coarse pad of it in rhythm with her hips, her face screwing up and each breath a loud plea to break. With every drag and pull his eyes stung, fingers digging into her fleshy thigh before her planted his feet flat to the bed and rocketing upwards, his name lamenting from her mouth as he matched her thrust for thrust. With every pump he grunted harshly, sweat gathering at his hairline even despite the furnace no longer functioning, reading her body as she began to lose her momentum and let him take over to finish them off.

He gripped her hips. “Touch yourself,” he rasped, his eyes hungrily drinking in the swift motion of her fingers replacing his on her clit. Hips in his palms, he set a punishing, shallow pace, dragging her hips down over his cock, his eyes slamming shut as his balls tightened and Dany cried his name once more, her walls palpitating like a vice around his cock until it was milking every drop from him. His head flew back into the pillow, quivering as he howled and jerked a few more times, then slowed his movements, loosening his hands and letting them fall lazily at his sides.

White dots popped behind his eyelids, lungs imploring for air and ears thrumming from blood flow returning northward. His lip curled as he became vaguely aware of Dany unsheathing herself from him, then a weight in the mattress next to him, parting his eyes open to find the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. He took a moment to study her, noting with amusement her ruffled up hair, her lipstick half vanished and probably transferred to his, doe eyes peering back at him and fingers lazily dancing over his chest.

“You’ve gotten good at that,” she murmured, a layer of drowsiness coating her voice.

His brows lifted, a dopey smirk spreading across his face. “Which part? Fucking you or making you wait for it?”

Grinning, she kissed him warmly, letting their lips linger for a moment. “Both.”

He grunted. “You’re better. But I’m not complainin’.” His tongue felt thick, and he could already feel a mild cold draft creeping into the room.

Humming, Dany peppered kisses all along his cheek. “I’m going to go clean up before I freeze to death.”

Rolling to his side, he nibbled on her shoulder, kindling a little yelp from her. “Give me a half hour and I can warm you up again.”

“Happy birthday, my love,” she whispered, kissing the hand of the arm that was snaked around her waist and up between her breasts. His heart thrummed tremendously, and he knew what he had to do tomorrow.

* * *

Before they attempted to rest, Jon had done the deed of tossing her shredded Liverpool jersey into the fire, then stoked the flames and added more firewood to keep it alive during the night. After chugging almost a full bottle of water each, they made for the bed...for sleep this time.

They were spooning under a thick quilt, and he was awoken by a very distinct, wave-like pattern of her ass was grinding over his cock, and by the time he came to full consciousness he was fully assembled. Blinking the sleep away, he propped himself up on his elbow, shivering as the cool air scored his skin with the shift of the blanket, and looked over Dany’s shoulder. She appeared to be sleeping, or perhaps she was just fucking with him, but either way, he was about to find out.

He did promise to keep her warm, after all.

With a nudge and slip of his thigh between hers, he notched his chin into her upper arm, reading the twitches of her face as he smoothed two fingers over her folds, discovering that she was bathed in her own juices, and now he wondered how long she’d been like this.

“Fuck,” he hissed, half masking the word into her skin as he let his fingers explore her center, roving inbetween her nether lips and spreading her mess over her clit when she finally responded with a groggy moan. So she _had_ been asleep, and dreaming about who knows what.

Jon scraped his teeth over her shoulder bone, his tongue peeking out to taste her slightly salty skin while she added more pressure against his hand. Since he was still feeling half asleep, he didn’t have half the mind to dig through his drawers for any toys, but rather just wanted to make her come again and watch as she unraveled by his fingers alone.

Her lips, still a little kiss-swollen, opened, jaw snapping shut and dropping depending on his motions, her legs squeezing around his thigh as he held her open for him. He moved his mouth to her ear, using his other hand to brush away bits of hair, taking the shell of her ear between his lips as he added blunt pressure to her clit and quickly settled on a pace that had her breathless within a few seconds. Her head turned toward him, sleepy, hazy eyes finding him before pulling him down to kiss him sloppily, her tongue exploring his mouth and tangling with his own.

The dried curls on his head stung mildly as she tugged on them, his cock surging as a result, briefly rutting over the cleft of her ass, drinking up her drawn-out moan. He sunk two fingers into her channel, her lips smacking open to heave for air, pumping her thrice before returning his attention to her clit, repeating the process over and over again inbetween sucking lips and tongues and eating each other up. He added one more digit and increased his rhythm, and by the next stroke of her clit she wailed into his mouth, her hand curling around his neck for some semblance of stability, her hips riding his hand until there was no more left in her.

She panted against his face, accepting his tiny kisses as he helped to ground her again, a sweet hum sounding from her when she wanted more. He fed her his mouth for as long as she wanted, her body rotating to face his, a jagged breath shooting up his nostrils when she curled her hand around his cock and dragged the moisture of its head down his shaft. His forehead bumped against hers, brow knitting almost to one thick line as she steadily pumped him, and then she was sliding down the bed, the thought of what she was getting ready to do almost making him lose all sense.

“Wait,” he gently caught her arm, and surprised himself when he felt bashful to even ask as her soft eyes lifted to see him. He hesitated just for a beat. “Do you have more of that lipstick?”

Her smile turned saucy, and wordlessly she draped herself across him to reach her abandoned purse on the floor, and while she was busy fulfilling his fantasies, he bent forward and sunk his teeth into each of her ass cheeks, unable to ignore the ripe, smooth half spheres over his thighs. Her legs kicked and she squealed, and he kneaded the firm flesh with his hands if only to hear her grow restless and breathless. 

“Jon!” She squeaked, lipstick clutched in her hand as she rolled back onto the bed completely, tears gathering in her eyes as he continued his tickle assault on her, poking her ribs and under her knees and her neck until he was afraid she might genuinely pass out.

“Well,” she wheezed, “now you’ve woken the dragon.”

Well, there went his boner again.

His eyebrows shot to his hairline, helping her back up before making a show of pompously sitting back against the pillows and spreading his legs open wantonly.

And he wasn’t even drunk anymore. Dany just did things to him.

She covered her chuckle with her hand, her eyes crinkling and disappearing behind her beautiful smile just as it had a moment ago, though he had to remove her hand so he could actually see it. She blushed, then rolled her eyes before popping the cap of her lipstick and, holding his feral gaze, painted over her lips, pressing them together so that it was evenly distributed.

He was absurdly aroused, and she hadn’t even gotten to what she had intended to do to him yet.

After tossing the makeup stick over into her purse, she lifted her index and made a twirling motion. “I need to do something first.”

He complied, letting her guide him how she wanted him, which was on his stomach, reaching down to readjust his cock. Her hands brought his arms to his sides, and then she helped herself to his ass, covering it with kisses and bites and squeezes before moving up his back, undoubtedly leaving red stains of her lips over various parts of his muscled back.

Smiling, he sighed, closing his eyes as he concentrated on her movements, her leg tossing over so that she was sitting on the lower arch of his back. The first contraction of her hands around his shoulders had him wincing and drawing them up, until she bent down, the warmth and her flowery breath making him peel his eyes open. “Relax,” she whispered, kissing his cheek before assuming her prior position.

“You don’t have to do that, Dany,” he mumbled.

“You’re going to ruin these if you don’t take care of them,” she tapped his deltoids, “and I know some physical therapists, so I know some tricks.”

She began again but a little gentler, and he tried to focus on relaxing his muscles one by one. “Is sucking cocks one of them?”

“The _best_ one.”

He groaned and let his hand blindly find a pillow, bringing it over his head and wrapping his arms over it. His straining and stationary cock was _not_ happy to be stuck between his abdomen and the mattress. 

Dany snorted, removing his arms and putting them back in place at his sides whilst he grumbled about it. “ _Relax_. Please.”

He huffed his mock indignance, but obeyed as usual.

After fifteen minutes, he was under the threat of letting sleep overcome him, her masterful hands spending most of their time mending his shoulders but tending to different sections of the rest of his back and arms. Admittedly, and not at all shocking to him, she was right - he couldn’t recall a time his muscles ever felt so pliant, far less taught like a bowstring. Even Tormund’s abuse vanished.

“Better?”

“Loads.” he flipped over once Dany lifted a bit, tucking a hand behind his head, and then she backed up to give herself some space. His eyes raked down her body, unaware that he was shaking his head until she asked what he looked so enraptured about. “You. You’re perfect,” he told her once he captured her gaze, stretching his arm downward to brush his knuckles over the flare of her hips. 

She ducked her head, and the shadow hid it but he knew her cheeks were flaming again, reaching an inch further to tilt her chin up and guide her to him so he could kiss her stupid. She hummed against him, but he left no more room for talk for a few minutes while he simply cherished to slide of their lips moving together, as if they had all the time in the world.

“Let me taste you,” she whispered, running her bold tongue over the length of his bottom lip.

No words were needed as she slid down his body, choosing random places to kiss, to which she, indeed, left behind red patterns all over him, but he couldn’t care in the slightest. If he could, he’d keep them there forever, a little piece of her with him all day every day.

Her nails scraped over his ribs, tongue swirling over his taut muscles, pausing just before his cockhead. Breath catching, he helped collect her hair from around her face, twisting it and tucking it behind her ear.

“Hold on,” he said, only slightly hating himself for cutting in when she was right there, but he couldn’t let himself be a selfish prick and enjoy her sucking him off when she was clearly freezing and trying to hide it. He fished around the side of the bed until his discarded sweater brushed his fingers, pulling it up and fixing the sleeves before he gestured for her to sit up so he could fit it over her head, tugging it down once her arms were inside.

Eyes drifting back to hers, she leaned forward one one hand and with the other, cradled his face, kissing him. “Such a gentleman,” she purred, “thank you.”

With a little suckle of his lip, she fixed her hair a bit more before centering her face over him.

The first lick of her tongue, followed by her expert hands slithering downward to settle at either side of the base of his cock - and all while clad in his sweater that her small frame drowned in - sent him back into the pillows propped against the headboard. His eyes snapped open in time to see her red lips close around him, fighting to keep his focus on her without starbursts obscuring his vision.

Her hand curled around the base, squeezing as her tongue swept over the ridge of his head and her cheeks hollowed. Nonsensical words slipped past his lips, growling into the air when she decided then to take as much as she could, bumping the back of her throat and bringing his fist to his mouth to clamp down on it when she swallowed.

It took all of his willpower to not feed her more, his hips twitching as a result of that desperate need, head thudding against the wood and arching his back instead. His breaths came hot and heavy, Dany’s hand establishing a rhythm with the silk wet heat of her mouth, the sight before him making his head roll. He was going to need another massage to disentangle his bunching muscles, coiling and coiling with every bob of her head, every suction and each time he thought she couldn’t take more of him and proved him wrong.

Needing something to hold onto, he cuffed his hand around the back of her neck, the other white-knuckling the headboard behind him as his muscles flexed and swelled, doing his damndest to last as long as he could but knowing full well he was on the brink of vaporizing.

Dany hummed contentedly around his stiff length, the vibration subconsciously drawing his hips up and making her gag.

“Fuck, sorry,” he grunted, gnawing on his bottom lip when she shook her head slightly, which only made his toes curl and fingernails dig into the wood behind him, skin feverish and clammy. “Fuck...me,” he groaned, eyes nearly crossing the longer he watched her, her hand rising to stroke and twist closer to his head.

“I’m trying,” she muttered around him, and he was pretty sure he was just going to be blown into an early grave.

“Gods...you’re amazing at it,” he choked out, teeth gnashing as she picked up her rhythm, teeth lightly scraping his oversensitive skin until the telltale tug and pull told him he was going to spend any second. With a light tug on her hair, he managed to gasp out her name to warn her, but she added more pressure with her fist, his back bowing off of the pillows as he gruffly grunted her name a thousand times over, his cock pulsating as his seed emptied into her mouth. If his fingers weren’t broken from how hard he held onto the headboard for his life…

As his breathing evened, his body lowered slowly back onto the bed, and Dany didn’t leave a drop behind as she released him and crawled atop him, fingers dancing over his bearded cheeks, lips pecking his closed eyes. He couldn’t be sure if it was sounds or words he was saying, his head still in the clouds, but whatever it was had Dany giggling away, his arm lazily slinging over her back to hold her there so he could come back to the living and witness her gleeful face himself.

There was some shifting about and then the familiar weight of her returning with the blanket to cover them, as Dany made herself comfortable on top of him and he readjusted so he could lay flat, arms securing around her. Sleep was on the horizon again, lulling him into a restful state by way of Dany’s fingers smoothing over the scars and burns of his hand, the dull thrumming of her heart over his, so full and at peace.

* * *

That morning, after he had snuck out of bed, rebuilt the fire and let Dany get her fill of rest, he’d gone down to make breakfast after layering himself in sweats and lighting the fireplace in the family room. When he had peered out the windows, he was met by nothing but snow and ice clinging to them. At least the sun was out, and he hoped at the very least his power would kick back on.

They shared a meager meal that consisted of cereal and coffee, grateful that at least his refrigerator still managed to keep cold. He had half a mind to stick all of his cold goods out in the snow just to be safe they wouldn’t sour.

Afterwards, they showered, or tried to, but since there wasn’t much else to do and it was bloody cold, he managed to coerce (“coerce”) Dany into joining him, which was mostly a half hour fuck session and then a few minutes of actual cleaning.

And after that, he had taken to tidying up the bedroom and breathed a sigh of relief when the hum of the power came back to life, and he cranked the heat. Not forty-five minutes later was a bit sweltering, his northern blood at boiling point, so he put it back on the normal temp, then wandered off, finding Dany in the small space of his laundry room. Unfairly, sinfully dressed in one of his white button-down shirts, the back ends not quite covering the bare curved of her ass. Hair thrown up into a haphazard bun, licking his lips at the exposure of her neck. She was throwing in laundry for the both of them, so devoted to her task even as he crept up behind her that she didn’t him until he captured her around her waist and buried his face in her neck.

She gasped and startled, hand flying to her heart while the other one carded through his hair. “Hi, you,” she leaned her head against his as he laid kisses along the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“It’s your turn,” he rumbled, ignoring her sound of question and promptly dropping to his knees, hands sliding up her sides and bunching up the shirt with it, then threw her leg over his shoulder whilst keeping her balanced and dove right in. She shrieked, hand banging against the washer, the other gripping his hair tight as he licked the length of her cunt and pulled her clit between his lips.

“Seven hells, Jon!” She howled, and for a moment he couldn’t believe she actually closed the lid to the washer _and_ started the cycle until he realized she just needed better leverage against his feasting. He moved with her as she partially leaned against it, covering her mound with the sizzling heat of his mouth, taking greedy handfuls of her ass and giving them a firm palming.

She held the slack of her shirt in her hands, their eyes locking, her face beautifully screwed up and cheeks pink, turning five different shades of red when he sunk his tongue into her sopping channel. Her head flew back and he was oh so tempted to get up and latch onto her neck, but they still had plenty of time to play. Instead, he removed one hand to fondle her hardened bud, wringing heady cries from her delectable lips as he traced every fraction of skin open to him.

“Jon, please,” her voice strangled, bending her other leg to lower herself for more of him. Happy to oblige, he kept her upright by her ass and skewered two fingers into her heat, delighting in her weeping whines and moans, which were coming in quick succession the harder and faster he pumped and sucked and nibbled. She fell back onto her elbows atop the washer unceremoniously, the sharp sting of her pulling on his hair, bringing him closer made his nose wrinkle and mouth move impossibly quick, all too receptive to her silent commands.

She came with his name on her tongue again, reaffirming his self-deprecation that he was just an idiot for not making this his life every single day. How rewarding it would be to cap off a strenuous day’s work to come home to her, to this, to _all_ of this instead of to an empty, solemn house.

Jon licked her clean, wiping his face off on the sleeve of his shirt before carefully righting her, hand sliding up her back to help her back upright. Her hair had loosened considerably from its hold, a groggy smile on her face as she trapped his face between her hands to kiss him.

“Dany,” he mumbled, pulling her against him, knowing it was now or never. Regrettably, he backed his face away, needing to read hers, her cheeks and neck and chest a delightful blush pink. Before he could doubt himself, he just got on with it. “I want to do this. For real, I mean.”

Her thick brows rose gently, thumbs caressing over his cheekbones. “You’re sure? Jon, you know I wouldn’t push-”

Shaking his head, she trailed off, and he brought his hands up to wrap around her wrists. “You didn’t push anything, Dany. I’m just an idiot.”

A new layer of red formed over her, though he knew now it was out of anger judging by the way she frowned ever so deeply. He couldn’t even pretend to tuck his tail between his legs because she was alluring even when she was angry. “You’re not an idiot, Jon. I agreed to this, too, and told you I’d be ready when you were. So let’s do it.”

Sucking in a breath, he blew out the word. “Really?”

Lips pressing together and eyes crinkling again, she nodded, looping her arms around his shoulders. “Really really.”

He attacked her with kisses all over her face until she could no longer take it, and also to hold off on the blubber bubbling in his chest. His parents had been poor models of a healthy marriage, his mother enduring unending emotional and verbal abuse from his father, all in front of his little eyes, and he never in his life wanted to experience that heartbreak. It wasn’t so much that he ever believed Dany could be that callous, and he knew he could never, but the nagging childhood trauma always reared its ugly head. Until now.

He swept his arms under her legs and carried her from the laundry room. “Alright. Tell me what you want and I’ll obey.”

Eyebrows wagging, she whispered hotly into his ear. “Do you promise?”


End file.
